I drink an entire bottle of dreams (vintage 1919)
and drift down a road made of smoke.
The umbrella of my imagination
flies away
flies away.

I am in no hurry to die.

My smile blooms

like a cyst.

Further down the road

I meet the phantom of myself.

I say hello and she laughs.

I smother her with my raincoat.

She wilts like a wounded smile.

Sleep waves to me with its green hand.

I gulp down a flask of smoke,

and fall toward the clouds

erasing themselves from my memory.

I knock on the sky

and no one answersexcept for the stars
except for the stars
(Wings of Icarus 2007)

Hours

The hours rain down
like soft sparkling skulls.
The children catch them on their tongues,eat them like they’re stars,
and become illuminated time.
Counterexample Poetics 2011)Miro’s scream

Miro’s scream becamea new color of crayon.

His scream unfurled across the middle of eternity,

spattering the sky

with colors the shape of centuries,

and shapes the color of oblivion.

His scream cast a shadow onto the pavement of the sun,

climbed up the staircase of the moon,

and erased every star.

Miro’s scream ripped open like a red yawn,

and lullabies fluttered out like blue bats.

Miro’s scream became locked inside itself:

Miro had swallowed the key to eternity,

and oblivion unfurled like a new color of crayon.

(Cerebral Catalyst 2006)

Invisible twilight

Dusk dreams herself into being: the sun swallows itself whole, spits out slivers of lunatic light; an unknown hand
scribbles graffiti of sightless eyes upon a mangled mask.
The trees with their many quivering tongues speak a terror of truth to the wind. Birds weave a maze of melody, and
cats stalk invented shadows.

Time bursts into tiny spiders who coil white shadows to snare snatches of twilight. The spiders gulp their prey, and grow plump with darkness.

Starved spiders shrivel, and dawn screams himself awake, flinging blood-stained shrouds over a memory of mad

moons and impossible twilights.

(Counterexample Poetics 2011)

Coma

The clocks weep an ennui of tears.

The black hour spills
through the eyes of the house
and strokes me with sleep-poisoned fingers.